After the End
by Fierceawakening
Summary: For the theme on Crimson Optics "After the End." The Decepticons have won the war and laid waste to Earth, and are celebrating. Megatron retires to his quarters after the festivities to find Starscream waiting for him. M for BDSM, sticky, and spark-sex.


He found Starscream waiting for him, sprawled on his berth and looking supremely comfortable. Starscream had been freshly painted for the evening's earlier festivities, and now he gleamed.

That was fitting. Their headquarters still lay at the bottom of this planet's sea, but the land on the surface burned, flame and smoke rising to choke the skies. It was the perfect death for the world that had so long imprisoned them.

Now the light danced on Starscream's frame as though he'd captured that flame and brought it down here to dazzle his lord. Megatron stared approvingly down at him.

As frivolous as it was to waste resources on unnecessary paint, the tyrant had to admit that the new paint was pleasing to the optic. Starscream's bright red body had been repainted a deep crimson, his wings an ivory, warm white.

And, waste of resources or not even Megatron had adorned himself for the celebration. He had painted red markings on his helmet, faceplates, and chest. Long ago, as a gladiator in the arena of his home world, he'd painted himself this way to strike fear into the sparks of his opponents.

When he'd gathered armies and moved from the deathmatch arena to the field of war, he'd abandoned the practice. It was time-consuming and tedious, and those who feared him and his Decepticon armies did so regardless of a few angry streaks of crimson.

But tonight was a night for all Decepticons to revel in their victory, and he wore them again. He wore them not only to celebrate, but also to remind those he led of where they came from, of what they had been, and of what they had always hoped to become.

"It took you long enough to get here," the Seeker smirked, his red optics shining. They, too, were pinpricks of flame. "Don't tell me you had to give yet another speech on your way here."

Megatron raised his arm, siphoning power to his cannon and feeling the heat roil through his weapons systems. "How long it took me is hardly your business. You shouldn't be in here at all."

Starscream's wings twitched. Megatron smiled, pleased. After so many thousands of vorns, the Seeker should have been used to staring down the barrel of Megatron's weapon. And even now, he sat up lazily, feigning unconcern. But Megatron, as used to watching Starscream's reactions as the other was to being threatened, saw a shiver of fear run through the Seeker's lithe frame.

"I shouldn't be here?" Starscream pouted and fluttered his wings in a feeble attempt to hide his involuntary movement behind a conscious one. "You wound me, Leader. All those fancy words about 'our crowning moment,' and you don't want to celebrate it with me?"

Megatron's other hand grabbed at one of Starscream's shoulder vents, wrapping around it and tightening slowly. "It's not whether I want you here," he answered, optics narrowing as he felt the metal give. "It's that you snuck in here without permission."

Starscream shrieked in pain, writhing in Megatron's grasp. "You brute! You're - you're ruining my new paint!"

"Ah yes, your new paint." He chuckled. Then he tightened his grip, crushing the ruined metal he held and earning another scream from the Seeker. "Rather outlandish, don't you think?"

"Outlandish?" Starscream snarled, trying to pull away.

Megatron pushed him down on the berth, pinning him there. "The red you chose is the color of human blood. I assume the white is human bone."

His optics narrowed. "I won't deny that the colors flatter you, but to borrow them from such a miserable race demeans you. There's no glory in exterminating pests."

Starscream huffed noisily, his slender hands grasping at the bigger mech's broad back. "It's pretty," he answered, scowling and digging his fingertips into the seams in the tyrant's armor. "And you'repainted up, too. Like a brute from the pits. Really, is that what you want to remind us of? I would hope you've learned a few things since th -!"

Megatron's frame rumbled as his hands moved to Starscream's wings. He gave them a hard wrench and leaned down, feeling the slender form below him writhe.

Starscream's cockpit glass and chest plating were hot, warmed by the flame of Starscream's spark. It crackled just beneath the glass and metal laid over it, whirling with anticipation. Feeling it, Megatron cycled a heavy pant through his intakes. His own spark seethed with the desire to expose Starscream's roiling spark, to pour himself into it and claim it for his own, as he had so many times before.

But not yet. Their eternal war had finally ended, and this was the night of their victory. It was only right to savor it.

His hand moved to Starscream's shoulder and then down his side. The Seeker shivered as Megatron's hand slid to his interface panel, and Megatron growled, pleased at his partner's responsiveness and at the lubricant already seeping out from its seams.

He curled his hand as if to wrench it open. With a startled cry, Starscream retracted it, so quickly that it took Megatron's fingers with it, slamming them against the side of the Seeker's now open valve.

Starscream smirked, pleased to have hurt Megatron instead of getting hurt himself. But his triumph was short-lived. Heedless of the pain, Megatron drove two fingers hard into Starscream's valve.

Starscream screeched in protest at the sudden invasion. He was small and light, built for the skies. Long vorns of experience with Megatron had accustomed him to the size of the bigger mech's fingers and spike. Still, two of an ex-gladiator's fingers shoved inside his valve with no preamble was a bit much, even for him.

Ignoring Starscream's howl of discomfort, Megatron began to move, feeling Starscream's lubricant pooling around his hand. Starscream rocked his hips, driving Megatron's fingers in deeper.

Megatron chuckled and froze. "Such an eager little thing," he murmured, feeling0 Starscream squirm in a feeble attempt to mimic his rhythm.

A whimper answered him. He kept his fingers still. Starscream snarled, spitting sparks and sliding his hand over Megatron's hip, resting his fingertips lightly on the cover of Megatron's spike.

Megatron cycled a heavy pant. His spike had already half-pressurized from what he'd been doing to the Seeker. Now it pressed against its cover, impatient to be freed. Optics flickering in anticipation, he allowed Starscream to slide the panel aside and take his length in his hand.

But when Starscream's hand began to move, Megatron stopped him, squeezing his wrist tightly.

"Not yet," he growled, steeling himself against the heat rising in his spike and pulsing through his spark. "Greedy little fool. This is a night for celebration. If you had your way, it would be over before it began."

So saying, he pushed a third finger into Starscream's valve, driving deep, his fingers scraping roughly against as many sensor nodes as they could reach. The Seeker shook, his overload clearly imminent, and Megatron's spike twitched in response.

He thought, suddenly, of the war. His greatest enemy had fallen, slain by his own hand. There was something sad in that, even in the midst of his greatest victory. One did not often come across enemies like Optimus Prime, and it would be many vorns, he knew, before any new foe rose up to truly test him. As pleasant as winning was, that was disappointing.

But here and now, Starscream twitched under his hands, stripped of his pretenses, open and undone. This was his reward, the prize his victory had earned. He stared, his melancholy thoughts leaving him, immolated by the searing heat of Starscream's desire.

The Seeker shuddered hard, his optics flickering bright and then offlining completely with the force of his overload. Megatron's spark surged in delicious sympathy and his own processor stalled for a brief moment as Starscream twitched with aftershocks.

Willing himself to keep control, he pulled his fingers roughly out of Starscream and rasped a command. "Get up."

Starscream's helm lolled and he looked shakily up at Megatron, his expression more relaxed than incredulous. "Mmm - but I -"

"- want to lie there like a sybarite now that you've had your pleasure? Bah. You were a warrior until today. Don't tell me that winning makes you lazy."

Starscream's lip plate twitched. Whether in indignation or amusement, Megatron couldn't tell. "You're just angry because I've overloaded and you haven't." He smirked, staring pointedly at Megatron's still-pressurized spike. "Too bad that's your own fault."

Megatron wiped his lubricant-soaked hand on Starscream's thigh, his faceplates twisted into a scowl of disgust. Rising from the berth, he took a step back. Starscream flicked his wings, incredulous.

"Get up," Megatron repeated, his silver faceplates cold and impassive, "and turn around. I won't say it again."

Optics flickering in confusion, Starscream hastened to obey. Megatron smiled, allowing himself a long moment to stare at Starscream's back and the graceful swoop of the wings rising from it. His approving smile became a smirk as Starscream stamped his feet. His Second never had liked waiting.

Pressing his lip plates together to avoid laughing aloud, Megatron turned to the wall behind him and pressed his fingertips to a small seam there. The metal hissed as it parted, opening a small compartment. Starscream gasped, hearing the sound, and Megatron's grin widened. _Yes, _he thought, his spark crackling as he reached into the compartment and drew out the long, thin metal rod he kept inside it.

There were probably hundreds of shocksticks on the Nemesis, and this one was no different from any others, except in history. Megatron had long ago set it aside to use on Starscream alone, and kept it here in his quarters for their private sessions, whether discipline or lust or both.

"Bend over," he ordered, his voice laced with static as he powered up the shockstick and felt it crackle with energy in his hands.

Starscream complied, scowling over his shoulder. "But I haven't done anything!"

Responding to that retort was easy. Too easy. During the long vorns of the war, he would have reached for the petty answer: _You hacked my door lock. Again. _

It would have been quite enough. It always had been enough for both of them. Even knowing, as Megatron did, that hacking his ever more complicated door locks was a task even Soundwave might find difficult, it would have been enough. Even knowing, as Starscream did, that Megatron valued such ingenuity in those who served him, it would have been enough.

Even knowing, as they both did, that Megatron would have been disappointed if he'd found his quarters had empty tonight, it would have been enough.

"You've done everything," Megatron answered simply, lowering his arm and sending the shockstick crashing into Starscream's aft.

The Seeker howled, throwing back his head as the force of the impact tore through his aft, electricity crackling through his circuitry on the heels of the blow. He hissed a curse, something about the unfairness of Megatron's punishments, but his hips tilted back in spite of themselves, hungry for another blow. Megatron's cooling fans roared as he answered the silent plea, striking the writhing Seeker in front of him harder.

Starscream tensed. Not bothering to give him time to recover, Megatron hit him again. Bright light danced over the freshly painted plating as another jolt of energy raced through Starscream's systems and he cried out again, his curses fading into staticky moans as he shifted, now arching into the blows, now twisting away from them.

Megatron's spark surged as if those jolts of energy were going through him as well. Starscream was irresistible like this, his defiance transmuted into desire, his spark torn between revolt and surrender until there was nothing left but blind emotion and desperate need. Megatron unleashed a flurry of blows, his optics fixed on the plating he was marking.

The Decepticon leader had never known anyone so strong-willed, except perhaps for the enemy he had so recently torn apart. He thought of Optimus, of the feeling of finally crushing his archenemy's bright, fearless spark in his hands. His own spark had swirled with emotion then: relief, triumph, confusion, contempt that his greatest foe had finally proven too weak to stand against him.

Pulling himself from his reverie, Megatron lowered his arm and stared at Starscream's aft. Its paint had chipped from the impacts, the silver plating beneath gleaming. Here and there, the metal had blackened, charred by the shockstick's energy, and in a few places, energon welled up from the cuts, glowing the same faint pink as the lubricant seepuing down Starscream's thighs.

Megatron's spark pulsed. Now the only being brave or brazen enough to defy him was the one that he knew belonged to him. He set down the shockstick and leaned down to kiss the marks he'd left on Starscream's plating, his spike twitching as he tasted the energon there.

"Megatron -" Starscream panted, his high voice so laced with static that he could barely pronounce the word. "Leader - please -"

Megatron sighed, his lip plates still pressed to Starscream's plating, his optics flickering. Then he stood.

It would be so easy to end this now, to plunge his spike into Starscream's dripping valve. Holding back for so long had become almost painful, and the intensity of his need burned so hot in his spark he could feel his chest plates cracking partially open, his overfull spark almost as eager to ease the pressure in it as his spike was.

But the building need in both his Second and himself was the point. He could take Starscream, simply and easily, any time he liked. This night would be the inaguration of a new era, as much for the two of them as it was for the rest of the Decepticons. It was a night to stake his claim on the Seeker, _his_ Seeker, as decisively and irrevocably as he had at the beginning of an eon of war.

"On the berth and on your back," he panted, vocalizer hitching.

"More - more games, Megatron?" Starscream answered. "There's no need to draw this out with - your grandiose little plans when - I'm already waiting for you -"

Megatron's dental plates ground together so hard they sparked. "Now."

For all his protests, Starscream moved quickly, draping himself artfully against Megatron's berth and twitching his wings as seductively as the position would allow. When he looked up at his Leader, his optics were wide. They lingered on the hairline crack in the tyrant's chest plates, on the warm red light pouring from the breach.

Under any other circumstances, he would have said something. Praised Starscream, perhaps, for his facsimile of patience, or scolded him for his greed. Told him what he was planning, why it mattered, what the difference was between an interface and the inauguration of an empire.

But there were limits to even his patience. Without a word, he hefted Starscream's legs and sank deep into the warm heat of Starscream's waiting valve.

The Seeker shrieked a welcome, his legs wrapping tight around Megatron's waist with a possessiveness of their own. Megatron growled low and began to move, feeling Starscream open to him.

But that alone was not enough. Not now. Not here. He leaned down to stare his partner in the optics, his own flaring so bright that Starscream stammered in surprise. Pressing his chest to Starscream's and feeling another core of warmth buried there in the Seeker's chest, he growled again.

"Open," he demanded, punctuating his words with a savage thrust, his own chest plates flying apart as Starscream shuddered in response.

"Both? But - _nnnh!_" Megatron silenced him with a harsh kiss, then arched his back to give Starscream's cockpit room to shift aside. Megatron's frame rumbled with anticipation as he watched the spark chamber beneath open, the bright red orb within swirling, a maelstrom of need.

He had claimed many this way. Not as many as he had with his spike alone, no. But he was the Decepticons' lord. His word was law to them, and although Starscream was not the only one to doubt him, many had offered themselves to him in any way he wanted - not merely their valves or their mouths, but their life-force itself, bared and presented to him, a swirling trophy of red light.

But he had never seen - never _felt_ - anything like the spark he found in Starscream, a whirlpool of chaos, of searing wind, of molten metal. A core of desire, of yearning, dangerous as a smelter and just as capable of melting down anything it touched. When he had first sunk his energy into it, it had caught and held him, so tightly he thought he might lose himself in it.

Nothing had ever been so dangerous. No one had ever offered him such a bold and naked challenge: _Claim me, or be consumed yourself._

He roared in answer to that challenge, plunging his spike into Starscream again just as the energy he'd held for so long in his spark poured forth in a torrent of heat and light. Beneath him, the lithe frame shook, twitching as if every part of it had been electrified by his shockstick at once.

Starscream keened, his frame still twitching as Megatron quickened his pace. For Megatron there was no difference between the warmth of the valve around his spike and the fire of the spark his energy poured into. Both opened to him, cloven in two, pierced and remade as he flooded them.

Through their linked sparks, Megatron could sense Starscream's emotions. Sometimes it was defiance, sometimes submission, sometimes pleasure, sometimes nothing more than stark and endless yearning. This time it was surrender, surrender deeper than anything he had ever felt. He moved faster, his movements erratic, as he neared something he had no word for, overload and conquest and creation all at once.

Craving even more contact as Starscream's desperation raced into his processor through the bond, he kissed the Seeker hard, a final bolt of energy tearing free from his spark as his spike pulsed hard and his fluid finally gushed free in a long, shuddering spurt.

Starscream overloaded a moment later, his valve clenching hard as the combined energies held in his overfull spark burst free from him in a ring of electricity that seared his circuitry and his lord's alike.

Systems reeling, Megatron willed himself to stay online. Static flickered in his optics and he fixed his gaze on Starscream, staring greedily at the open spark before him as it whirled lazily in its housing. Sliding free of Starscream's valve, he stared at that too. Its paint was scuffed from their exertions, and their combined fluids dripped from it, glowing faintly but obscenely against the dark paint of Starscream's pelvic plating and the ivory he'd chosen for his legs.

His optics were dark at first, but as Megatron watched, they flickered with light. Awareness returning, Starscream stretched, smirking, and reached up to touch Megatron's still parted chest plates. Graceful blue fingers traced the markings painted there, and Starscream murmured his approval.

"I always did think those markings looked good on you, _mighty _Megatron. It really is a shame you pay so little attention to your paint job most of the time."

The tyrant scoffed. "All that, and all you can talk about is paint? Perhaps you truly are a lost cause."

Undeterred, Starscream reached up to wrap his hand around Megatron's chin, drawing him down into a deep kiss.

"Oh, I know this wasn't about paint," he said when it was over. "I'm not as stupid as you pretend I am."

"As you pretend to be," Megatron corrected.

"Whatever." His hand moved to the markings on Megatron's helm, touching them reverently.

"This changes everything." Megatron said, his voice soft. "You would do well to remember that, Starscream."

"Everything," the Seeker repeated, tasting the word. "Everything... and nothing at all."


End file.
